


(no subject)

by gth694e



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint is actually somewhat self aware, Insecure Clint, Insecure Phil, M/M, Natasha Romanoff is mentioned, Phil Needs a Hug, but not onscreen, like intense amounts of angst, mentions of Clint's abusive childhood, not really - Freeform, sorry for all the angst, this story is nothing but angst, with a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:11:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2296166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gth694e/pseuds/gth694e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton was the best thing to ever happen to Phil, and somehow he had managed to ruin it in a month.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(no subject)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one-off and doesn't fit in any of my series. 
> 
> There is mention of Clint's abusive childhood. There is no description or direct examples, but read at your own risk.
> 
> Rating is for some cursing and the allusions to childhood abuse. Also lots of angst. 
> 
> Many thanks to coriolana and concertigrossi for beta-ing this angst filled fic on a really quick turnaround.

Phil Coulson didn’t know what he had done wrong.

For a beautiful month he had dated Clint Barton. A month of stolen kisses, casual touches, and soft smiles. A month when he saw the sides of Clint that no one else even knew existed.

And now, as suddenly as it had started, it was apparently over.

He hadn’t seen Clint in two days. He didn’t even know if the other man was still in the city.

The last time he had seen the archer, they had been snuggled on Phil’s couch, watching re-runs of Dog Cops. They’d snarked at the show together, Clint occasionally throwing popcorn at the TV when something truly ridiculous happened. It was a perfect moment, something Phil couldn’t have even imagined a month earlier.

And somehow he had managed to mess it up.

Phil tried to lose himself in the monotony of paperwork, but he couldn’t. Every other report reminded him of Clint—his inability to write in the designated area on a form, his refusal to use anything other than a purple pen, and his shit-eating grin when he handed in an itemized expense report with nothing but NOPE written across it.

If only Phil knew what he had done wrong, then he could apologize. But the night had ended with a kiss at the door and a shy smile from Clint. No arguments. No flinches. No warning flags. Nothing.

Clint Barton was the best thing to ever happen to Phil, and somehow he had managed to ruin it in a month.

A ping from his computer shook Phil out of his thoughts.  He signed in and pulled up Outlook.

> BARTON, CLINTON F Spec SHIELD…        **(no subject)** 9:38 AM              12kB

Phil stared at the line in his inbox for a solid minute. Clint never sent emails. Clint swore he didn’t even know where his SHIELD-issued computer was. He made Phil use the touchscreen at the Redbox kiosk when they rented _The Lego Movie_ , for God’s sake.

Phil started to smile. And yet wasn’t it just like Clint to undersell himself and his abilities? To blink those baby blues and say, “Gosh, sir, we didn’t have computers in the circus and I really don’t know how they work” and be lying through his teeth, all because he didn’t want to do any of the online forms or training.

When Clint came back, Phil was going to have a long talk with him about trust between an agent and a handler.

Phil’s smile died. No, not when. If. If Clint came back.

But at least if Clint was emailing him from his SHIELD account that meant he was safe. He was somewhere on a SHIELD base—not necessarily this one, but he hadn’t run completely. He hadn’t gone rogue.

There was still hope.

At least, hope for Clint. If this email was a Dear John letter, there would be no hope for Phil.

Phil’s eyes burned, so he pinched the bridge of his nose. If Clint broke up with him, it wouldn’t destroy him. He knew himself better than that. He’d get on with life, he would continue living, continue working.

No, it wouldn’t break him. It would hollow him.

There would be no more B-movies and nerf gun wars, no more snark and smiles. Just unending SHIELD paperwork, broken by the occasional op with SHIELD agents who obeyed the rules like automatons. And then going home to an empty condo that contained nothing but suits and guns and orange juice.

Going back to his life before Clint Barton.

Phil’s hand trembled as he clicked the email to open it.

> I’m sorry I ran away.
> 
> I know I’m fucking this up before it’s even had a chance to start.
> 
> But I’m afraid.
> 
> I’m afraid of jumping into bed with you and finding out that’s all you ever really wanted from me.
> 
> I’m afraid of moving too slow and giving you the idea that I don’t want you.
> 
> I’m afraid of ruining this when it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
> 
> I’m afraid of the day you realize I’m not worth the effort. That I’m not hot or smart or fun. That I’m plain and stupid and boring.
> 
> I’m afraid of the day you look at me like every person in my fucking life has. Look at me and see…nothing.
> 
> So when you kissed me goodnight and called me your boyfriend I flipped out. Because that word…it means something. It means “you’re mine and I’m yours.” And I can’t believe anyone would ever want to apply that word to me. Why should you want me when my own family didn’t?
> 
> I know guys like me don’t get the happy ending. I just hope this is fun while it lasts, because it’s going to kill me when it ends.

For a moment Phil couldn’t breathe and his vision went white with anger.

Damn them. Damn every person who ever looked at Clint Barton and made him feel stupid, unloved, unworthy. Damn his father who told him he was a moron and hit him instead of hugging him. Damn his mother, for not being strong enough to get them out of there. Damn Barney for abandoning Clint instead of staying when Clint needed him. Damn every man, woman, and child who looked at Clint Barton and didn’t see what a beautiful person he was.

Damn them all to hell.

Phil wanted to tear out of his office, find Clint, pull the man into his arms, and assure him that Phil would never, ever look at him and see nothing. That he was not just worth the effort, he deserved the effort.

But a hurting Clint Barton was not a man who wanted to be found. He could be anywhere: in the vents above this very office or on the west coast sitting at a borrowed SHIELD terminal. This was Hawkeye, after all, a Hawkeye who had had two days to run. He could be in Russia for all Phil knew.

Phil had no chance of finding him, and if Phil didn’t do something he was going to lose him forever.  

Worse, if Phil did the wrong thing, he might push Clint away from SHIELD forever.

Suddenly Phil was imagining a scenario where Clint left SHIELD, threw himself back into a life of crime, and became a SHIELD target. Phil—as the foremost expert on all things Clint Barton—would be asked to track him down. And he’d have to do it, because Phil would rather die than let Clint go back to that life, the life that still haunted the archer to this day.

 _Calm down_ , Phil told himself, catching himself just before his anxious breathing tipped over into hyperventilating. He was panicking over nothing. Things were different now. Clint was different now. He wasn’t the frightened boy that Coulson had had to shoot to bring into SHIELD. At the very least, Clint had Natasha now, and if he ran, at least he wouldn’t run alone.

Phil’s heart clenched at the thought of both Clint and Natasha leaving him, of sending him back to the man he’d been before—dedicated to his job and so terribly alone.

People always talked about how Coulson had saved Hawkeye and Black Widow, how he had single-handedly pulled them out of darkness and on the path of light. No one ever talked about how they had saved him.

Phil hit reply.

> First off, you are worth it.  We’ve worked together for ten years and in that time I’ve never _once_ thought that you were stupid or plain or boring.
> 
> You are brilliant, gorgeous, and fascinating.
> 
> I’m sorry if I ever made you feel otherwise.
> 
> Secondly, how _dare_ you. I will forgive the insinuations against my character, but how dare you _even hint_ that Natasha has ever looked at you like you were anything less than something precious. You demean yourself and her.
> 
> And finally, there is no reason this has to end. Whatever pace makes you comfortable, whatever pace you need, it is the pace I need.
> 
> Come back, Clint. I will never get bored of you.
> 
> I love you.

Phil hit send without reading over it, because he knew if he did, he’d write and rewrite until it lost all meaning. So he hit send and hoped he didn’t scare Clint even further away.

He stared at his computer, waiting for a response, but nothing came. _Give it time_ , he told himself. Hell, Clint could have sent that email before boarding a quinjet to Antarctica. He might not see Phil’s response for hours.

Or Clint might never reply, never come back, and Phil might wake up in the morning to discover that the closest people he’d had in his life since his mother died were just gone, never to come back again.

And maybe they had never cared about him as much as he cared about them.

A soft scratching sound jerked Phil out of his thoughts. A ceiling tile moved, and Clint Barton dropped from the ceiling directly in front of Phil’s desk.

Phil stared at him, unable to breathe, unable to move.

He hadn’t run. He’d been here the whole time.

Clint’s expression was unreadable, but his arms were crossed—no, not crossed. He was hugging himself, as if to brace himself for whatever came next. When Clint finally spoke, his voice cracked. “You love me?”

It took every ounce of Phil’s self-control to not rush the other man and drag him into his arms. Instead he gripped his chair, too afraid of scaring Clint away. He kept his face impassive, his voice steady, and said, “Yes, Clint, I do.”

And suddenly there was an archer in his lap, his hands on Phil’s face as he kissed him, knocking the air out of Phil’s lungs. Phil grabbed his waist instinctually, holding tight, afraid that if he let go Clint would disappear again.

Eventually Clint broke the kiss, resting his forehead against Phil’s. “I’m broken,” Clint said. “This isn’t going to be easy, Phil. Even if...even if you love me.”

“I do love you,” Phil said, “and when have I ever shied away from a challenge?”

Clint shook his head, his forehead still pressed against Phil’s. They both knew the answer to that was never.

“If you don’t want me to call you my boyfriend,” Phil said, “I won’t.”

“It doesn’t mean I don’t…it doesn’t mean I don’t want that,” Clint said, pulling back, looking into Phil’s eyes anxiously. “It doesn’t even mean I don’t…think that. I just…the word. It holds…power.”

A circus superstition or a truth of semantics, Phil didn’t know which it was, but he nodded his agreement either way. He could understand. The word did hold power. That’s why Phil had said it. Because he’d wanted to be that to Clint, to mean that to Clint. He’d wanted Clint to be his.

“I can wait,” Phil said. “Until you’re ready.”

“Thank you.” The archer leaned in for another kiss and then buried his face in the crook of Phil’s neck. The office chair leaned back dangerously, but neither cared.

Phil wrapped his arms around Clint, wishing he could go back and time to kill every person who had ever hurt him. No person deserved to think they weren’t worth love. No person deserved to feel unwanted by their family.

Wrapped in his own thoughts, Phil missed it when Clint mumbled something against his neck. “What was that?”

Clint turned his head slightly, freeing his lips. “You were right about Tasha. Don’t tell her what I said?”

Phil couldn’t help but smile. “Your secret is safe with me.”

**Author's Note:**

> You guys can always find my on [tumblr](http://www.mandyp12.tumblr.com).


End file.
